


Not Like This

by purplelacemoon



Category: Billary - Fandom, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:36:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplelacemoon/pseuds/purplelacemoon
Summary: August 1998. Hillary drowns her sorrows





	Not Like This

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last story I'll be posting before my exams next month, but I've finally got an idea of what my next multi chapter story is going to be so I'm excited to start writing that and share it with you guys just as soon as I'm no longer weighed down with revision! In the meantime, I leave you with some mostly sad drunk Hillary...

Hillary sat perched on the edge of the kitchen bar stool and raised her glass to her lips and tipped back its contents. The amber liquid burned a little as it traveled down her throat and the smouldering warmth spread to the pit of her stomach raising the temperature of her body. Without hesitation Hillary reached straight for the bottle again to refill her glass for the third time that evening and immediately drained the contents in one go. The buzz of the alcohol was starting to hit her now.  
  
It had been a long day. Her first public event since Bill’s confession to her on that godforsaken morning. The morning that had sent her life spinning into an unending living nightmare; one that she still hoped she might just wake up from if only she tried and prayed and wished hard enough but she couldn’t. She was stuck with it. This was her reality now, and when she had finally ventured out into the world again to give her first speech since the truth had come out, she found she could barely walk more than five minutes without seeing a tactless headline in a gossip magazine or being hit with a barrage of cruel heckles from crowds gathering on street corners as she stepped out of her motorcade.  
  
She had tried to block it out, ignore it all and focus on her speech, on the issues that really mattered. After all she had dealt with this kind of thing countless times before, the abuse that had been hurled at her while working on healthcare reform alone had prompted the secret service to urge her to wear a bulletproof vest for own safety for gods sake, she certainly had no shortage of people following her around screaming exactly what they thought of her to her face then.  
  
But this time it felt different. It was so much more…personal. The entire country was talking about her in a way she had never experienced before. All of them talking relentlessly about the most personal, private and intimate part of her marriage and as much as she tried she couldn’t seem to get the stinging words out of her head.  
  
_“Think Hillary SUCKS? Turns out she doesn’t!”_  
  
_“Maybe Monica should have been the one to take on Healthcare Reform - she gets the job done when Hillary won’t!!”_  
  
_“Hillary Clinton: the first First Lady to go down in history for not going down”_  
  
The humiliating remarks and trashy headlines swam around in her head over and over until she couldn’t take it any longer and had turned to the liquor cabinet for to help drown them out instead.  
  
She had barely eaten all day from stress, and so in her state of lowered tolerance it didn’t take long for her body to succumb to the effects of the alcohol and she soon began feeling drowsy and more than a little light headed. Her vision started to blur as though she wasn’t wearing her contact lenses and her emotions slowly rose to the surface in a way she didn’t usually allow them to. She gripped at her glass tightly and knocked another drink back as hurt and anger surged through her like burning white hot flames.  
  
How could they say those things about her? Why was _she_ the punchline of every joke when she had no participation in any of this in the first place? And was that really what people thought of her? That this was her fault, that she drove Bill to it because she couldn’t satisfy him herself? Did they really think she was so undesirable, so cold? That what, in all her 23 years of marriage she’d never given a blowjob before? _Please._ She could tell them all stories about her that would make their heads spin and their mouths run dry. But of course, it didn’t suit their agenda to see her in that way. She couldn’t _possibly_ be intelligent, opinionated and outspoken _and_ attractive and desirable. Oh no, that didn’t fit in with the nice little convenient stereotype they’d neatly boxed her into and so they chose to ignore it and instead paint her as uptight and frigid and about as sexy as a cold fish.  
  
She never used to care. After all that side of her was something special she reserved only for her husband, the flirtyness, the playfulness, the sexiness. What did it matter what the rest of the world thought about those things? The two of them both knew the real truth, knew how her kisses could drive him wild, how the delicious seductive words she would whisper in his ear would make him tremble and how her touch could cause him to come undone in a way no one else ever could. It never really mattered to her that the world didn’t see her that way because it was all reserved for him and only him.  
  
Except now he didn’t reserve himself for only her.  
  
Hillary felt her blood begin to boil as unwelcome thoughts of Monica began to play on her mind, images of the young woman locked in intimacy with her husband, touching him how only she ought to, him sharing with her what should only be hers. Her lips on him, giving him the pleasure that used to be hers to give.  
  
And was she better? Did he prefer the feel of her touch or the sound of her voice over that of his own wife?  
  
Did she just not do it for him anymore, was that it? Wasn’t she enough to get him going?  
  
Hillary downed another long drink and furiously wiped away the hot tears that had escaped down her cheeks. _Well she would show him,_ she would prove that she could still give him what he needed.  
  
She slammed her drink down on the counter a little more forcefully than she had intended and headed out across the corridor on a mission toward the smaller room where she knew Bill was now spending his nights away from her. Hillary stumbled a little as she walked, her head dizzy and her motives all over the place as her intoxicated mind continued to race with flashes of cruel headlines and echoes of hecklers and whispers and pitying judging looks aimed at her from all directions, taunting and tormenting her.  
  
When she finally reached the right door she turned the handle and fell into the room rather ungraciously, her legs like jelly underneath her and she blinked around the room until her eyes lit up as they fell upon who she was looking for.  
  
“Hillary?” Bill gasped in total surprise at his betrayed wife’s sudden appearance in his new sleeping quarters. She sauntered straight over to him with determination in her swayed steps as he blinked at her in confusion. “What are y-“ Hillary cut him off before he could finish his sentence and crashed her lips against his hungrily, desperately needing to feel wanted again. The alcohol coursing through her bloodstream had long since pushed her pride out the window and drowned out her usual prominent voice of reason screaming at her all the reasons why this was a bad idea until she could no longer hear it at all.  
  
The kiss quickly deepened and Hillary slid her tongue along Bill’s lower lip demanding access and he tasted the alcohol still lingering in her mouth. Realization dawned upon him that she wasn’t in a clear enough state of mind to be able to rationally think through what she was doing, but he was temporarily robbed of his own capacity to form coherent thoughts as she reached for his crotch and palmed him through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.  
  
He groaned against her mouth as she stroked him and she felt him hardening at her touch. _See,_ Hillary thought to herself triumphantly, _I can still turn him on. I can still have this effect on him too._ She wasn’t altogether sure who she was really trying to convince. Him? Those who had mocked her? Herself? Her thoughts were far too hazy and clouded to pin down an answer but either way, she would show them. Show them all just how wrong they were about her.  
  
She dropped herself down to her knees in front of him before he knew what she was doing and she pressed her mouth against the growing bulge straining in his pants. Bill let out a low groan as bolts of sheer pleasure shot through him but as much as his body was being driven wild by her touch he knew he had to put a stop to this.  
  
As she started fumbling with the drawstring of his pants, wetting her lips as she moved to tug them down Bill gathered every ounce of strength inside him and reached gently down towards her to still her motions before she could get any further.  
  
“Baby,” he shook his head, “not like this.”  
  
She tilted her head up at him in confusion, her lips pouted in a frown and her eyes glazed over with the effects of the alcohol, though they still held their bright sparkle.  
  
“I just wanna make you feel good Billy, let me make you feel good.” Hillary protested, slurring her words slightly and moving towards his pants again causing him to groan, longing for nothing more than for her to continue but managing to muster just enough willpower to lightly tug her away again.  
  
“You’re drunk.” He continued softly, “and angry, and hurt. And I know you’ll only regret this in the morning and end up hating yourself for it, and I’m not about to let that happen.”  
  
Her bottom lip started to quiver, and with her inhibitions lowered she finally dared to voice the question that had been plaguing her mind for weeks.  
  
“Why don’t you want me anymore?”  
  
Bill felt his heart break into a thousand pieces and he knelt down to be at eye level with her, cupping her face gently in his hand.  
  
“Of course I want you darlin, I will always always want you but not like this. Only when _you_ want it too, and you’re not in any clear state to know what it is you want right now.”  
  
She sank down onto the floor, collapsing from her knees and hugging her legs underneath her, crumbling before his very eyes as she started to cry. Bill pulled her into his arms as she sobbed, clinging to his shirt and he tried his best to soothe her.  
  
“Shhhh honey shh it’s okay everything’s going to be okay. You’ll feel better in the morning I promise.”  
  
As he cradled her gently back and forth her cries gradually dissipated into heavy breaths, and he could tell she was balancing on the brink of sleep as her eyelashes slowly fluttered closed then open again.  
  
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He whispered, climbing to his feet and carrying her delicate form all the way to the bedroom as she clung to him tightly, comforted by the scent of his aftershave and the steady beat of his heart as she rested her head against his chest.  
  
She was almost asleep already by the time they made it to the bedroom, only just drowsily hanging on to the edge of consciousness as her body surrendered to the effects of the alcohol. He laid her back against the cotton sheets and she settled into the mattress appreciatively. As she made herself comfortable Bill quickly ventured into the bathroom and returned with a plastic basin to leave next to her side of the bed, just incase she woke up in the middle of the night to find she’d drunk more than her body could handle. He then sat himself down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair, hesitant to leave her. Especially seeing as it was his fault she had gotten herself into this state in the first place. It broke his heart to see her like this, plagued with so much self doubt and he cursed himself silently for ever taking her love for granted and for letting her believe she was anything less than the most remarkable, beautiful, breathtaking woman in all the world.  
  
He observed the layers of make up across her face and felt another twinge of guilt. She had changed so much for him. Though not in the way one might expect a woman to alter their appearance for their husband; not to make herself more appealing to _him_ but instead to make herself more appealing to a world that refused to accept her as she was, the way he fell in love with her. He had never once asked her to change, it had always been her choice but still they both knew that ultimately she had done it for him. Because she loved him. And they had both been so focused on driving their ambitions forward for the future they were trying to build that Bill hadn’t noticed he had let her lose a part of her identity along the way.

He gazed at her now, her lashes thickly coated with black mascara, eyelids packed with a shimmering gray powder, now smudging down her rouged cheeks and her lips painted a glossy red. She suddenly seemed so far away from that woman he had been captivated by in the law library all those years ago.  
  
Bill crossed the room to her mirrored vanity cabinet and returned a moment later with a ball of cotton and some make up remover. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and softly nudged her shoulder, causing her to shuffle her position a little though she still kept her eyes shut.  
  
“You can’t sleep like this honey please, let me help?”  
  
She murmured a little noise in protest but she didn’t try and push him away so he took that as permission to proceed. He poured a few drops from the bottle onto the cotton ball and began gently swiping her skin in soft downward motions in the way he had watched her doing so many times before. She sighed contently as the cool liquid soothed and massaged against her skin, and she soon found herself drifting off to sleep as Bill wiped away the layers of cosmetics that masked her from the watching world.  
  
Once her face was clean and bare he couldn’t help admiring how truly beautiful she looked. Her skin fresh and glowing with sun kissed freckles scattered across her forehead. Her eyelashes fair and blonde, and her naturally pink lips so delicate and soft, parted slightly as she breathed so deeply as she slept.  
  
She looked peaceful yet so fragile, barely an echo of her former self now after all he had put her through. That fiercely independent girl with her thick framed glasses and untamed hair, that infectious smile and unapologetic laugh that he loved so dearly.  
  
Bill realized in that moment that as much as his affairs had hurt and betrayed her, he had really let down that young girl long before now. That particular heartbreak had simply been the final nail in the coffin of a lifetime of his failings, a lifetime of him letting her think less of herself and standing by while she swallowed her pride again and again and conformed for his sake.  
  
He felt every ounce of that deep pained regret tug at his heart tonight more than ever as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, gently brushing a strand of golden hair out of her face before he leaned in and gently kissed the top of her head goodnight.  
  
“Oh Hilly,” he breathed softly against her ear, “I’m so sorry my love.”


End file.
